


Follow Me Down (into darkest deep)

by emptydistractions



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Creepy Brock Rumlow, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: It was supposed to be quick- just in and out to see if they could find anything salvageable. The base was supposed to be abandoned. Hydra was supposed to be gone. Rumlow was supposed to be dead.But you know what they say about best laid plans.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 14
Kudos: 111
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	Follow Me Down (into darkest deep)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jaune_Chat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/gifts).



> My gift for Jaune_Chat for the Hydra Holiday Trash Party! I hope you love it! (And I'm sorry it's so late)
> 
> Other readers: _please_ heed the tags!

The Soldier is cold.

Not the cold of cryofreeze, which chills your blood until it's sluggish as honey and works ice down deep into your bones. Not that kind of cold at all. But enough to register. His breath puffs out in little white clouds in the damp room, and the skin around the edges of his metal arm burns with cold. He wants something _(I’m warm enough, Steve, I don’t need a damn jacket)_ but that can’t be right. The Soldier doesn’t _want_.

He’s in one of Hydra’s bases _(It’s not on the list, but I know it’s there, it’s been empty since the seventies, we should at least check it out, Steve)_ , but he’s not quite sure how he got here. Which is fine. He’s woken up a thousand times in a thousand different places with no memory other than that of being pulled from sleep the way a baby is pulled from the womb, gasping and disoriented. There’s nothing different about this that he can see _(Did you hear that? I don’t think this place is as abandoned as we thought)_.

“Soldier!”

The Handler snaps his fingers and the Soldier complies, not sure how he stopped paying attention to begin with _(He’s been out of cryo for months, the programming’s not gonna be up to snuff, sir)_. Maybe it’s something to do with his body. He’s aware of feeling uncomfortable. Besides the cold, there’s a slowly closing gash behind his left ear _(don’t hit him that hard dumbass, he has to be awake for the machine to work)_ that has the side of his head dripping bright red blood onto the concrete floor, and his flesh arm feels like it’s been pulled out of socket and reset badly.

“Pay attention,” the Handler orders, so the Soldier does.

In front of him is the Handler _(fuck this, Rumlow, he fucking bit me! I better get some goddamn hazard pay for this little joy-ride of yours)_ , a handful of agents who are all so tense they’re practically vibrating, like horses chomping at the bit to run, and a man in the Chair. The sight of the Chair _(figure it out, I can’t hold him down forever!)_ sends ice creeping down the Soldier’s spine, little tendrils of it spreading out from the center and wrapping their bitter fingers around his ribs until his body aches with it.

The Soldier feels his heart stutter in his chest as he lays eyes on the man _(Steve, go!)_ in the Chair. He’s been stripped completely naked, body clamped in tight at the wrists and ankles by metal that creaks as he pulls at it but refuses to give way. The skin beneath is bruised blue and purple and bleeding from his fruitless efforts. There’s tape over his mouth, his blonde hair is wild, and his _eyes_. It’s like the room is suddenly in black and white, everything else a background like snow on an old television set, only the man is in color. The bright, robin-egg blue of his eyes burn the Soldier like flames and he has to look away. Beneath the tape, the man shouts.

The Handler strikes the man across the face, the sound of the blow ringing through the room. The agents laugh and the man says something that’s muffled by the tape. “Shout all you want Rogers,” the Handler says _(Steve, it’s Steve, Rumlow’s got Steve and Bucky’s going to be sick)_ , “We already fried his brain. He doesn’t know you anymore. If I told him to walk across this room right now and slit your throat, he’d do it.” _(he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t-)_ “Should I have him do it?”

There’s cackling from the crowd of agents and one of them whistles. The Handler grins in their direction. His mouth only turns up on one side; scar tissue on the burned half of his face freezes his features into a permanent twisted scowl. For a moment, the Soldier thinks he smells burning diesel and river water, but a second later it’s gone.

“Nah.” The Handler turns back to the man in the Chair. His smile has fled and his expression has gone as cold as the room. “I got something better.” He paces in front of the Chair, reminiscent of a predator cornering its prey, before stopping directly in front of the man. The man’s blue eyes burn like lit coals as he stares defiantly back.

The Handler nods at the chair, his tone contemplative. “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it, Rogers? This one’s old. The one Pierce used in D.C. _(wipe him and start over)_ was newer, but in the end, the result is the same.”

Both men look at the Soldier, but he’s not been told he has to look, only to pay attention, so the Soldier fixes his stare somewhere just past the man’s left shoulder and listens.

“I thought about using it on you,” the Handler says conversationally. He moves so he can lean up against the Chair, and the Soldier sees the man tense against his metal bonds, fists clenching so hard his knuckles turn white. “But I thought, ‘Captain America gave me this,’” he points at his burned face. “It’s only right that I give him something just as good in return. Don’t worry though,” the Handler adds, patting the man on the shoulder. A muscle in the man’s jaw starts to tic. “It didn’t go completely to waste.” He smiles at the Soldier for some reason the Soldier can’t discern. “I’m sure it’ll make you happy to know he didn’t beg when we got him.”

The man bellows. His face is red under the tape, his eyes angry. Blood trickles down to his bare feet as he pulls against the ankle restraints. The Handler rolls his eyes and makes a tsk-tsk sound. “Save your energy. You’ll need it for later.” Again, the agents gathered in the room laugh.

The Handler gestures to one of the agents, who produces a small, metal box and hands it over to him. The Handler’s delighted grin returns as he opens it up and pulls out what’s inside. It’s a needle, long and sharp and glinting dangerously in the harsh overhead light. The attached vial is filled with a bluish colored liquid. It’s not any kind of poison- the Soldier would recognize that- and so it remains a mystery. The Handler depresses the plunger, squirting a few drops of liquid from the tip of the needle, and then, without telegraphing his intentions, turns and plunges the needle in the man’s upper thigh.

The man jerks hard against his restraints, and the entire Chair creaks and groans as the metal is tested. The Soldier thinks the man is cursing beneath his tape. The Handler quickly withdraws the needle and hands the spent syringe back to the agent, who tucks it away into its case.

“It burns, doesn’t it?” the Handler asks the man. “They said it would. It’ll go away in a few minutes, once it gets into your bloodstream. The effects take a little longer though. But don’t worry.” The Handler winks his good eye. “You can have a bit of a show while you wait.”

All eyes are suddenly on the Soldier. He feels cold sweat start to trickle down the back of his neck, though he doesn’t know why. The Handler smiles at him, cold and venomous, and then says, “Strip.”

The man in the Chair shouts something that sounds like ‘No’.

The Soldier strips methodically, setting each piece of clothing aside before getting to work on the next. He can feel the crowd of agents eyeing him, their gazes leaving a trail across his skin like slime. He shivers, but not from the cold.

“Cold?” the Handler asks him, and the sound of his voice is like a glacier in the night, deceptive and dangerous. “You’ll warm up soon. Get on the ground.”

The Soldier sinks to his hands and knees, something telling him that that’s the position the Handler wants _(lower, dumbass, don’t make me do all the work)_. The concrete floor radiates damp and cold, and the chips of broken rock dig into his palms. He feels exposed, vulnerable.

“Just like old times,” the Handler says to the agents. The faceless mass hum in agreement, shifting on their feet, ready to move. “You remember the rules _(no permanent damage, guys, the techs hate having to put it back together)_. Break any and I’ll break your jaw. Now, have fun.” His face stretches into something horrifying that the Soldier thinks is supposed to be a laugh. His stomach turns at the sight.

And then the agents are on him. There’s hands in the soldier’s hair, gripping tight until it feels like it’s being pulled out at the roots. His head is yanked backwards and his mouth pried open _(wider, open wider)_ by rough hands. A hard cock fills his mouth, cutting off his air, and he chokes and gasps around it as it bumps up against his throat. The hands in his hair pull, and the man in his mouth thrusts over and over again as the Soldier gags on his cock.

His thighs are kicked apart, spreading his legs wider, with the Soldier’s own cock hanging soft between his legs. There’s the sound of someone spitting, and then something is shoved into him. Something hard and blunt, and it’s too big, too fast, with not enough prep. He feels something tear _(does that count as permanent damage, boss?)_ , and pain shoots through him as warm blood drips down his thighs. The man fucking him grunts and pulls out before slamming back in. His hands curl around the soldier’s hips and hold so hard they bruise bone.

The man in his mouth groans and speeds up, ramming his cock down the Soldier’s throat again and again. Saliva pools at the corners of his mouth, and his jaw burns as it’s forced open. With a grunt, the man finishes, warm come filling the Soldier’s throat. He chokes on it as the man withdraws his cock, saliva and come dripping down his chin and onto the floor.

Another agent takes his place. His cock is shorter; it doesn’t bump against the back of the Soldier’s throat, but it’s also wider. The Soldier feels his lips crack and split as they’re stretched wide around the intrusion. As the agent works up a rhythm of withdrawing and thrusting, he slaps the Soldier across the face. Something that feels like his cheekbone cracks.

He’s shoved back and forth between the man in his mouth and the man in his ass as they violently push and pull at him. The man fucking him comes suddenly, pulling out and painting the soldier’s ass and thighs _(look at that, he fucking loves it)_ and digging his nails into the soldier’s hips until they dig furrows in the skin. Warm blood drips down his thighs.

There’s no respite. The wave of agents waiting to use him is endless and infinite. One man wraps a hand around the Soldier’s throat as he fucks into his mouth and laughs as the Soldier’s vision starts to gray out. Another pulls out and comes into his own hand before smearing it into the Soldier’s hair. The one after that stops to tug at the Soldier’s lip until the bleeding starts again and the taste of old pennies mixes with the bitter salt taste of come in the Soldier’s mouth. The men who fuck his ass are no less kind. One pushes in so violently that the Soldier’s entire body slides across the floor, while another uses his baton to stretch the Soldier wide before taking his turn.

The men are all the Soldier can see and hear and taste and feel _(aw come on man, you have to let everyone have a turn, it’s only fair)_ , and when they’re suddenly gone, it takes the Soldier a moment to readjust. He blinks hard and realizes the men have left. When had they gone? His body hurts, his ass and mouth burn, there’s cracked bones in his face, and knife cuts on the back of his thighs.

“Up.”

The Handler commands and the Soldier obeys, rising to his feet as his body screams in protest. He’s dripping with blood and come and saliva. His own cock is still soft between his legs. The men hadn’t touched that.

“Over here.”

The Handler points to the Chair and the Soldier moves, stopping just in front of the man still bound to it. The man isn’t shouting now. He’s slumped against the metal. He looks defeated and there are tear tracks down his face. His eyes still burn though, and again, the Soldier can’t meet them, afraid they might blaze all the way through him if he looks. They stand there like that for a moment, the man in the Chair, the Handler, and the Soldier. The agents have left the room quiet in their absence. The Soldier wonders what they’re waiting for.

And then...

The man in the Chair is no longer slumped. He makes a muffled noise of surprise, and then what sounds like a groan. He’s shaking his head back and forth furiously, looking at the Handler with mixed fury and horror as he rails once again against the shackles around his wrists and ankles. And between his legs, his rapidly hardening cock sits fat and heavy.

The Handler’s face is something out of the pits of hell as the man in the Chair begs without words. “It takes a while to work, but when it does, it puts Viagra to shame,” the Handler says as the man in the Chair makes a piteous noise. “I got it made special for you. It didn’t seem fair to make you watch the show if you didn’t get to play a little too.”

There’s fresh tears in the man’s eyes as they dart desperately around the room, but there’s no escaping his captor. “Soldier,” the Handler says. “Take care of our friend. Now.”

The Soldier takes a step forward, and this time he can hear the ‘No’ that the man moans. _No no no_. He’s saying it over and over again, tears clinging to his lashes. His cock is fully erect now, and as the Soldier takes it in his hand, the man shudders and clenches his eyes shut. It’s the work of only a moment to situate himself, and then the soldier sinks down onto the man’s cock. The man’s eyes fly open _(blue like the sky on summer Brooklyn days or colored pencils they can’t afford or the sheets drying on the line)_ and he’s doing it again. _No, no, no_ , repeated ad nauseum, like a mantra or a prayer.

Under the Handler’s stare, the Soldier shifts his hips, pulling himself up and then dropping back down, fucking himself on the man’s cock. There’s pain, sharp and hot, and he leaves blood on the man’s thighs. The Soldier moves in a quick rhythm, and the man moans, long and low and deep in his throat. He’s crying freely now _(I love you Bucky, god, so much)_ , and there’s pain in his eyes when the Soldier glances at him briefly before once again focusing his gaze somewhere just past him. The man’s hands clench and unclench, nails digging little half-moons into the skin of his palms, and then with a strangled cry he comes. The Soldier feels the man’s cock pulse as he shakes through his orgasm. The Soldier slows and stops.

“Good job.” The Handler’s behind him now, facing down the man in the Chair as the Soldier sits on his lap, the man’s come slowly leaking from him. The Handler and the man stare each other down until finally, the Handler breaks first. “Stay here, Soldier,” the Handler commands brusquely, angrily. “You’re not done until he’s done.”

The Soldier hears the order and understands. The man’s cock is still hard in his ass, and despite the pain, the Soldier starts fucking himself onto the man’s cock once again.

“Six hours, give or take,” the Handler says to the man. His voice is low, his words joining the sound of flesh against flesh. “Have fun, Captain.”

The Handler’s footsteps ring through the empty room, and the sound of the door slamming shut is a dull boom that reverberates in the Soldier’s chest. The Soldier fixes his eyes on the far wall and goes to work as the man in the chair silently cries.


End file.
